you put your arms around me and i'm home
by erlebnisse
Summary: Seven days, 168 hours, 10, 080 minutes, 604, 800 seconds – that's how long it took her to realize that she was completely and utterly in love with Andrew Clarke. – Allison, Andrew
1. i sunday

I kept seeing all the ClaireBender stories and decided to make one for a OTP of mine. :P  
>Enjoy.<p>

**muse:** _Arms_ by Christina Perri

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><p><strong>i. Sunday<strong>

_I never thought that you would be the one to hold my heart  
><em>_But you came around and you knocked me off the ground from the start  
><em>_You put your arms around me  
><em>_And I believe that it's easier for you to let me go  
><em>_You put your arms around me and I'm home_

The phone didn't ring.

Not once.

She tried to pretend that she wasn't hopelessly waiting for him to call her like he said he would before his dad honked the horn for the last time. Busying herself with things to do – all of which somehow revolved around the phone in the living room – all day to keep herself occupied so she didn't focus on the phone, on Andrew. When her mother asked what she was doing, she insisted that she was only sitting on the couch (right next to the phone to be the first one to answer it incase _he_ called) to do some light reading.

_He's going to call… _she told herself again and again as she sat on the couch, watching old re-runs of _I Love Lucy_ and _M*A*S*H _to pass the time. _He's only busy – he might even be grounded_. She wanted to snort at that: kids like Andrew Clarke don't _get_ grounded the same as regular kids like her do. They get a slap on the wrist and a little, "don't do it again", then sent off to do whatever.

She continuously lied to herself with excuses that were slowly growing more feeble as the day passed and her mother called her for lunch, then for dinner, then her father turned the channel to watch some stupid game show, then when her mother told her to get ready for bed because there was school tomorrow, and she missed to much of it already.

Gulping down the last of what remained of her desert, she imagined that it was Andrew's head she was stabbing each time the fork make a squelching sound as it sliced through the apple crumble and against the porcelain plate.

He was just like all those other stupid jerks that taunted and teased her at school. _Let's try and get a rile out of Alison_, she mocked in her mind, losing her appetite completely. Her chest hurt (not due to Andrew; chest pains had nothing to do with him) and her throat was getting tight. She swallowed the last bit of apple crumble down with a harsh gulp.

She wasn't going to waste her time on some stupid boy.


	2. ii monday

**I honestly had little to no expectations of this drabble when I started it! Thank you everyone who read it~ Even the ghost-readers ;) **

**Sorry for the delay, but here is the second instalment. **

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><p><strong>ii. Monday<strong>

_How many times will you let me change my mind and turn around?_

_I can't decided if I'll let you save my life or if I'll down_

_I hope that you see right through my walls_

_I hope that you catch me, 'cause I'm already falling_

_I'll never let a love get so close_

_You put your arms around me and I'm home_

It was hard to roll out of bed that morning – with a heavy heart and a dull ache in her chest, Allison readied herself for the taunts and jeers to come once they find out about her and _Andrew Clarke_. Then again, knowing him, the follower of the pack, he might keep his lips sealed tight and not tell anyone. When she made the move to comment on it, he'd send her off with a fake smile, and then turn to his friends to talk about her behind her back.

"_She's so weird, she just like, started talking to me about being a pathological liar"_; she'd be left to deal with the aftermath of it all when his friends decided they wanted to pick on someone. She felt bad for Brian who was going to blindly walk up to them and start talking as though they were friends – just like Claire said, they would wait for him to leave and then start on the poor kid.

She could handle it. It was nothing new for her to see or hear them talk about her; Brian was such a naïve kid who actually thought that – he – they cared. She wasn't going to let that happen, though. Ignoring them was the best option; give Andrew a taste of his own medicine. He didn't call her; well she wouldn't give him the opportunity to badmouth her to all of his little friends.

"Allison – let's go!"

Her mother's impatient call broke her from the faces she was making in front of the washroom mirror while putting on eyeliner. Everything would be forgotten: no Bender, no Claire, no Brian, no detention…_No Andrew_, nothing. That Saturday never happened; she sealed it off by adding an extra coat to her darkened eyes, messing her hair up to its original state.

She stared into the mirror a while longer until her mother's insistent calls for her to hurry up became too much. With a grunt of frustration, she grabbed her bag and thrust the wooden door open.

"I'm coming!"

Much like how she predicted it all to happen, it played out.

She saw Brian jog up to Andrew's gang, big smiles and friendly hello's were exchanged until one of them started laughing. Thankfully, she didn't see Andrew with them – she wasn't sure how she would have reacted to the whole thing if _he_ were there.

"Leave him alone," she picked up his fallen bag, sneering at the jocks and their blue school jackets. Vaguely she wondered what he would tell them when they found out his patch was missing, but shook that thought off and focused on Brian. "You alright?" She asked, passing him his bag and reaching out a hand for him to take.

Someone snorted, "Oh, look, its nerd and his crazy girlfriend."

Allison ignored them; keeping her gaze trained on the torn looking kid in front of her. Something told her that he was looking for their approval, even though they just humiliated him and pushed him around. Always the followers, she thought, pulling her hand back when he failed to take it.

"She's not my girlfriend," he defended, glancing eagerly up at the kids who were pushing him around not moments ago. "She's just a basket-case."

They cracked up, calling out about a "lover quarrel" and Brian stood beside them looking oddly pleased with himself. It wasn't his fault; not really, he just never had people this cool act like they were his friends before. She didn't blame him, but it just hampered her mood even more to find out that he was taking the side of those who were bullying him.

Allison ignored them, muttering a quick "I told you so" to Brian and then walking off.

So much for being your own person and standing aside from the crowd, she thought, rolling her eyes.

Bender and Claire were sort of odd, she mused, watching them from across the hall. Instead of Bender being the ignored, Claire was. He didn't even look at her when she turned to him, smiling and waving. It was strange, but not overtly so.

Her crestfallen look when he said something snide about her to his friends was noticeable even from where Allison was standing. She would have felt smug about it – the beauty Queen getting a _taste of her own medicine_, but she wasn't.

Why were boys such jerks?

She closed her locker with a slam, ready to face the rest of the day ahead of her.

Unfortunately, Andrew was in the majority of her classes.


	3. iii tuesday

Thank you everyone who added this story to their favourites or alerts! I really appreciate it! I'm totally not a review whore - but it's true, some motivation really helps! ^^

Sorry for the late update! I've finally decided on an update day - every Wednesday! So, enjoy!

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><p><strong>iii. Tuesday<strong>

_The world is coming down on me and I can't find a reason to be loved_

_I never wanna leave you but I can't make you bleed if I'm alone_

_You put your arms around me_

_And I believe that it's easier for you to let me go_

He ignored her.

She tentatively smiled at him during their Science class, and he looked away. That wouldn't have bothered her much if she hadn't already started to _like_ him just a little bit. She tried to tell herself that she wasn't waiting for him (just like she wasn't waiting for him to call on Sunday, or meet her by her locker on Monday), but it wasn't working.

Allison tried to be the strong-willed one by going home on Saturday and trying to forget them all. She didn't want to be like Claire – eager to be with Bender, ready to show people that she wasn't a materialistic girl.

And, she supposed in some way, she wasn't like Claire. No, she was much worse with her pinning after Andrew. She made up a daydream about them – about how on Sunday, he would call and they would talk all day about the little things, the things that didn't matter, all the way to the bigger things, and the things that did matter. Then on Monday, he'd be laughing with his friends in the hallway, and stop dead in his tracks when she walked up to her locker.

"Where are you going, Andrew?" They would ask him as he blindly turned from them and walked towards her.

He'd stop in front of her locker, looking deep into her eyes-

"Miss Reynolds, are you even paying attention to what I'm saying?"

She blinked as the voltaic looking woman marched up to her desk, stopping in the middle of a History lesson. Allison shook her head, trying not to draw much attention to herself; she could feel the bubbling nervousness of whether or not to be confrontational steadily grow. Most of the times when she acted out, all she got was a few dirty looks from the students around her and sent to the office. When someone else acted out, they got quiet agreements and murmurs of encouragement.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Andrew turn toward the teacher stomping up to her, finally making eye contact with him for the first time since Saturday. She glanced away from him; she didn't want him to think that she was _pinning_ after him or effected at all by him either.

"Well, Miss Reynolds, what's more interesting than your education?" _Everything._

Allison shrugged slightly, "I was trying to figure out the Romans-" She motioned to a random open chapter in her old history book; "involvement with the Egyptians since I finished my homework." _Lies,__lies,__lies,__lies._

That quieted her teacher down as she bristled to herself, "oh… Well, ahem," she shot Allison a pointed, but pleased look, probably at the prospect of a student reading ahead. "Next time, please inform me of it earlier."

She nodded stiffly, "sure."

_Lies, lies, lies, lies. _

"Very good, now-"

Rolling her eyes, she happened to glance over at Andrew (or as she liked to refer to him as: _**the**__**Follower**_) and choked. He was sitting across from preppy, blonde version of Claire – although, she admitted, Claire was more refined, elegant, than this … _tramp_ – touching her arm, and smiling at her. Allison wasn't stupid, she read those girly magazines sitting in the office when she waited for someone to get to her: he was flirting with her.

Allison stopped listening, glaring crossly at the open text book in front of her. The frayed pages and magnitude of doodles all over the book gave her mind something to focus on – a way of escaping. That was fine, _it_ was fine; she didn't care.

Andrew could flirt with whoever he wanted.

Picking up her pencil, the very one that she was using to mindlessly draw on her notebook previously, she scratched out the little picture she made of a heart.

Below it read: _**Andrew**__**&**__**Allison**_


	4. iv Wednesday

**I'm super sorry for the extremely late update! Won't happen again, I promise. ^^**

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><p><strong>iv. Wednesday<strong>

_I hope that you see right through my walls  
><em>_I hope that you catch me, 'cause I'm already falling  
><em>_I'll never let a love get so close  
><em>_You put your arms around me and I'm home_

It was only Wednesday and Allison was about to give up on school for good. She was tried of the dreary building already. The whole place could've burnt down to the ground and she wouldn't even bat an eye. She was starting to develop an antipathy to the high school. Her mum wouldn't let her stay home though, no matter how many lies Allison spilled to her. It would always come back as a resounding "no".

Toughing it out like usual seemed to be her only option – that or skipping. Her guidance Councilor had made it vehemently clear that if she were to miss another day with an unexplainable cause again, she would be shipped out to the remedial school in the next township.

Goodie, she thought with a bland taste in her mouth, kids who are just as messed up as her. It was lunch time already and the day seemed to be lagging on-and-on. No matter how many times she glanced up at the clock in her classes, time ticked by at an agonizing slow pace.

_If__it__'__s__not__one__problem,__it__'__s__another._The whole Andrew problem (she referred to it as the "CLARKE FIASCO" in her mind when addressing, or suppressing, it) was still at the forefront of her mind, no matter how many times she tried to push it away. It was like an elastic band; each time she pushed it away it would snap back. Someone either brought him up in a conversation, she saw him, or something reminded her of him.

It was getting ridiculous; she didn't even know the guy aside from the many taunts he threw her way whilst in the hallway or from that one Saturday detention. He barely knew her name – she was just that weird girl to him.

_Then__why__did__he__kiss__me?_For that, she had no answer.

Allison was good at pegging people: Bender, the problematic kid who wanted attention; Brian, the _brain_ who was desperate to fit in and be noticed; Claire, who was trying to run from her problems by shadowing it all in cosmetics and materialistic things to prove that she was really there; and then Andrew – the follower, the guy who did what he was told.

The kiss had been a shock, a split-second decision. It…wasn't bad either. His lips were soft against hers…no, she wasn't going to think about that, or anything else that had to do with him. She was going to get answers, though, ask him why he was ignoring her.

She saw Brian walking down the hall with some of his friends – other AP class students – and sighed a little. Maybe he would know where Andrew is, that would also give her the chance to say "I told you so".

Picking up her lunch tray, she threw the remains of her food in the trash bin, and walked over to where Brian and his friends sat down. One of them happened to glance up at her while she was walking, nudging the person next to him with his elbow, and then motioning to her.

Brian looked up and paled, visibly.

He probably thought she was going to hit him.

She should, she really, really should, she thought as she stopped in front of their table.

"Um, hi…?" One of them piped up, glancing awkwardly around.

"I need to talk to you," she pointed her gaze at Brian, ignoring his friends.

He coughed, "well, uh, you see, anything that you have to say, you can say it in front-"

"Fine," she rolled her eyes, "do you know where Andrew is?"

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><p>He wasn't in home-room where Brian said he was last. Growing frustrated, she stomped away, fully intending on speaking to him one way or another today. If he was going to be childish (and break her heart) then he could do it to her face and no behind her back.<p>

Taking the cowardly way out was really not mature.

So much for her Wednesday plans.

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><p><strong>Hope you enjoyed! =]<strong>


	5. v thursday

**Note: **I thought that I'd have this out a lot earlier than but _c'est le vie_. Mild angst in this chapter – just a smidge because, well, I thrive off of it. Also, it's a lot longer than the other chapters (which isn't good because my writing is an eyesore when it's drawn out like this). I should admit too, before you read, I was heavily influenced by Elvis Presley's _Blue Christmas_ and eggnog.

I found a cute picture of Andrew and Allison, which can be found here: http (:) / /26 (.) media (.) tumblr (.) com/tumblr_lc1xmbz6Vt1qcrnazo1_500 (.) jpg, remove the brackets and spaces!

Any mistakes, please let me know since I didn't have time to look it over.

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><p><strong>v. Thursday<strong>

_I tried my best to never let you in to see the truth;  
><em>_And I've never opened up  
><em>_I've never truly loved 'till you put your arms around me  
><em>_And I believe that it's easier for you to let me go…_

All the small doubts Allison might have had regarding Andrew avoiding her were wiped clean when she saw him Thursday morning at his usual seven-thirty practice. She arrived early – earlier than her usual seven-fifty time since her mum had to work the early shift and wanted her gone sooner rather than later – and decided to wait to him after he was done practicing. The normal jocks on the team were laughing at her when she showed up, but she paid them no mind. She was more focused on finding Andrew to be concerned with stupid, testosterone crazed boys.

All of her suspicions were confirmed when he showed up and took one look to where his so-called friend's were pointing and promptly ran in the opposite direction, away from Allison. She frowned; it was obvious from the classes they shared that he was going out of his way to being the first person out of the class and the first person in it, not to mention he completely avoided eye contact with her. A part of her was hoping that maybe it was all in her head, that maybe he was just busy and he'd talk to her later or something.

Later never came and now she knew that said "later" wouldn't ever. She was torn between being angry at him and hurt, even though admittedly she set herself up for it. A boy like Andrew would never leave his safe-haven of popularity and social acceptance for the weird girl who sat in the back of the class and wore black.

Besides, he was only interested in her because she let Claire dress her up like a preppy doll. If he really wanted to continue the relationship, he would have called. Or at least spoke to her about it. But he didn't; he was pretending like it never happened.

Maybe she should do the same…

But that wasn't how Allison liked to conform. She was going to talk to him, willingly or not, he was going to listen to what she had to say.

…Even if she had to tie him to a chair and force him to hear her.

The beat of a new single blared from the boom box perched inside the small gymnasium. She easily recognized the song as being something from Hall & Oats, _Out of Touch_; maybe, she really wasn't paying attention to it as she circled the gym in their mandatory laps. Her gym class consisted of most the girls in the eleventh grade. Most of them avoided her - she rarely did anything aside from skulking around the gym – and the rest just ignored her. Allison didn't care if they decided to talk to her or not.

However today seemed to be the "epiphany of one Claire Standish" as she walked right up to the brooding girl, dressed in the mandatory gym uniform of seashell white shorts and a grey shirt with the school embalm on it, and starting talking to her.

They weren't friends.

Both Clair and Allison made it very apparent that they never would be, and yet there she was, standing beside Claire as they got ready to play Volleyball.

"So, what's going on with you and Andrew?" Claire asked (and had the decency to _whisper _it).

Allison shrugged (_everything_), "nothing." Then she demanded, "why?"

"Just curious; I mean, you were like, talking to him – _and kissing_ – don't lie, I saw you," Allison made a face, "and now, it's as though Saturday never happened."

She rolled her eyes. Of course Saturday happened; how could she forget that sob-fest of nerds and jocks and out casts and the popular girl? "Nothing happened."

She lied because it was a habit, and then recanted it a second later. "Why do you care anyway?"

"I thought that -" she spiked the white ball when it was thrown to her, "maybe we could, you know, _talk_ or something."

Allison scoffed, hitting the ball to an overeager server to the left. "Look Claire, we're not friends."

"I know that," she rolled her eyes, "I just thought-"

"-Talking about makeup and boys and crushes is something _friends do."_

An uncomfortable silence hangs in the air between them. Claire stared at her with an affronted look on her face making Allison's stomach drop. She tries to say something, anything, but nothing came out.

Finally Claire turns away, "I was only trying to help."

As Claire walked away, Allison looked ruefully at her. They weren't friends, she tried to remind herself as the guilt started to gnaw at her. She didn't have to be so rude…Claire was annoying and too…_pink_ but she was only trying to be nice.

"I'm sorry," Allison said, stepping over to where Claire was.

Caramel colored eyes gazed back at with a hint of apprehension and anger. "Yeah, well, I get it."

"Get what?"

"What you're going through with Andrew," she said, pushing curled locks away from her eyes, "Bender is doing the same thing to me."

Allison shook her head, "no, Andrew is nothing like Bender."

"Seems kind of funny though, huh," she sneered slightly, spiking the ball with a loud pop. "Andrew's avoiding you and Bender is… well…"

She did see it in a way. Bender ignored Claire (even going so far as to talk about her to his friend's when she was right there) and Andrew was ignoring her too. It seemed that both the boys didn't want anything to do with them. Allison refused to see them – _Claire and Bender_ – in the same situation though.

"Bender's an ass," she deadpanned, "Andrew is…"

Claire rolled her eyes, "Don't you see it? He obviously doesn't want you! Since when has Andrew ever backed out of asking a girl out? Never; if he wanted you, he would have done something about it."

Allison could feel the eyes of her classmates boring into her. If it weren't for the humiliation burning into her and the anger (who the hell did Little Miss Perfect thing she was?) she would have realized that there might have been some truth behind her words. "I guess I don't see it, Standish."

"You're just going to get hurt and I'm trying to look out for you, _Reynolds_."

"No," Allison shook her head, "you're just playing the bitch card because the boy you like doesn't like you."

Claire stood perfectly still, gaping at Allison.

_Maybe she crossed a line?_

She continued anyway, "you just need to grow up."

The crestfallen look on Claire's face made her wince. Before she could apologize, the bell rang and Claire was already walking away from her.

Under the bleachers is kind of like her little haven away from school.

Nobody ever thinks to go there – it's littered with molding food, garbage from the games, excess pom-poms, a few articles of forgotten clothing (and even a couple used condoms, she notes with a hint of distain and disgust). Since skipping classes has become somewhat of a norm for her, she doesn't need to worry about teacher's finding her or someone else disturbing her.

She doesn't want to go to class (especially now since _Claire Standish _decided to put her perky rich nose in her business) and see Andrew, who would, undoubtedly ignore her. Claire's words were starting to haunt her; if Andrew really _did_ want her, he would've done something about it.

He may have been a follower but he still went after what he wanted.

"_If he wanted you, he would have done something about it."_

Damn, she kicks away an empty chip bag from the low bench on the bleachers and sits down. Why did Claire have to be _right_? Here she was feeling super determined to talk to Andrew (because hell, she actually thought that he might _like_ her) and then _she_ had to go and turn it all around on her.

She crosses her arms over her chest and glares out at the football field in her line of vision. The color (burgundy on yellow) was really tacky and reminds her of her grandmother's stupid sweaters she use to send her on Christmas and Easter and her birthday. Allison isn't really bothered by it though; she just wants something to pick on.

As she scans through the field, she notices a blob moving through the other bleachers on the left side. It wasn't uncommon for others to skip – it was actually pretty normal to see a fellow classmate at the comic book store or wandering the halls, or some girls smoking in the washroom – and she doesn't pay any attention to it.

_If it were a teacher, she'd just lie and say she had cramps._

She put her head down, staring blankly at the steel beneath her feet. Her head was still swimming in confusion and her chest was starting to ache in an unpleasant way. Allison wasn't stupid – she might not have been book smart like Brian or street smart like Bender or fashion smart like Claire or even athlete smart like _Andrew _– she did know one or two things about life. It was obvious that by his behavior that he didn't want to see her, want to talk to her.

And that was fine. She really didn't mind the sting of rejection. All she wanted was answers to go with her multitude of pending questions. If he didn't want her, that was okay – she could handle that (maybe, probably…_not at all_). If he didn't want a relationship with her, that was okay too (it really wasn't). She only wanted him to _tell_ her. She wanted to hear him say in to her face that she wasn't worth it.

But he wouldn't.

Boys were so stupid. Why did they have to go and mess up her perfect little world of "just get it done" and turn it topsy-turvy into "_All about Andrew_"? She was perfectly content in being _that_ girl; the one who wore strange clothes, listened to strange music and danced to a different beat. Allison was _okay_ with being the girl everyone thought was weird or was ignored.

She was fine with it all, really. It was okay being the social outcast.

_But really, it wasn't._

A part of her – that girlish little princess inside of her that was still wishing for a Prince Charming among the throes of "I-Hate-The-World" and teenaged weltschmerz – was hoping that maybe Andrew could have been _the one_. With all that lame chocolates and roses and kisses in the rain and holding hands and buying gifts and whispering _I love you_ and having someone to talk to and being _loved_ and _accepted _by someone who would put up with all of her _bullshit _because _fuck_, she had feelings too.

Apparently though, he wasn't that _one_. He would always only be the boy who stole her first kiss, made her feel so_ damn _pretty and wanted, then dropped her flat on her face a second later. And it was all because he didn't want to be seen with the social pariah.

In her off-beat, aberrant poetry, she often wrote about getting dumped or her heart getting broken by that _guy _but having never truly felt it, she wasn't exactly sure how that _hurt_ felt. She understood what her English teacher meant about getting it but not really grasping it.

"Allison, are you okay?"

She didn't even realize she was crying or that someone was tentatively touching her shoulder until _his damn voice_ broke through her turmoil.

"Hey, Allison," there it was again.

Blinking blearily, she quickly wiped away her tears still streaming from her eyes with the back of her sleeve, wincing as it wetted faster than usual. She hadn't even noticed how hard she was crying. Glancing out of the corner of her eye she saw Andrew sitting a fair distance away from her.

She sucked in a breath. He looked so…_ugh_, stupid boys.

His cropped sandy blonde head was ducked low, obscuring her from seeing his face. His elbows were resting on his bent knees, muscles tight and body tense. His long, slender fingers were clutching against a basketball in his hands. His foot was tapping without rhythm to a soundless beat.

"What do you want?" She wasn't feeling angry like she expected she would have. (Of course, she also expected him to drop his friends for her the moment she walked into the school and announce to everyone that they were _together_, so her expectations and reality were at odds with each other).

He stiffened even more and paused for a minute before answering her. "I, uh, I saw you sitting here and you looked like you were, um, crying."

"I wasn't crying because of you," she lied, snapping at him with narrowed eyes.

His head swiveled toward her, she saw him visibly swallow a few times. "Oh."

"Yeah," she sniffed, pulling at a loose thread in her sweatshirt. "It really had nothing to do with you."

"I'm sorry."

She didn't say anything after that, letting a tense and awkward silence lapse over them. Vaguely she smelt summer rain and wet pavement as she sat beside him. It was winter, crisp and cold, and yet he smelled just like summer. It was strange (and pleasant, very-very-very-very pleasant).

He coughs into his jacket sleeve – and she can see the missing number that she stole still outlined from years of use and bleach – shifting slightly. Away from her, closer to her, Allison couldn't tell. Her eyes were trained to the goalpost just past his head, the gleam of evening sun drenching his sandy colored hair, making it almost orange

Secretly, Allison loved the winter (the headaches from the cold and the slush on the ground once it all went away, not so much). Sometimes she would just go outside and sit for hours on a park bench and wait for the streetlights to turn on. She thought it all looked so beautiful.

_Not as beautiful as Andrew looked when he was gazing into her eyes, caught between hesitance and awe as they kissed._

He coughs again, dragging her out of her memory. "I-uh," he stammers in his husky voice. "I'm sorry."

"I heard you the first time," she clips. Her hands are cold and red and she doesn't know exactly how long she'd been sitting outside crying for. "What do you want?"

He glanced down to where her hands were clutched in a tight ball and swallows. "Are you cold?"

"No, of course not," she scoffs, rubbing her hands together.

"How long have you been out here?"

She shrugged noncommittally, "since fifth period."

He whistled lowly, "it's sixth right now. Why weren't you in class?"

"Honestly?" She quipped, raising a brow.

He shrugged then with a little smirk playing on his lips. "If you think you can."

It was hesitant, but he was trying to play it cool. "I think I can," she grimaced, already knowing that she was going to lie anyway. "I guess I didn't want to go…Didn't feel like it."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. I hate my third period class because my teacher's hounding me about getting _F_'s and that if I don't get a solid _B_- I'm not going to be able to football-"

"Somehow I don't think that football relates to my plight," she interrupted, rolling her eyes at him.

_Always football_, she mused, but knew because of that _Saturday_, that he could really care less for the sport. His crestfallen look made her want to take it all back at once.

"Uh, right, sorry," he muttered, eyes downcast.

Allison curtly nodded, rubbing her hands together to keep warm. Maybe the bleachers weren't the right choice for today.

"I'm sorry."

She turns to him, watching as a light pink color dusts his cheek – and she is absolutely positive that it isn't from the cold – and snorts. "You said that, like, _three_ times already."

"I know," his voice was clipped, "I just – I am, okay? Sorry, I mean."

She forges ignorance, "sorry about what?"

He faltered for a minute; swallowing once more before opening his mouth to say something – Allison hopes he doesn't say _Sorry_ again because she might kill him – and clenched his fist.

"A-about, you know, a-avoiding you and everything."

There, Allison thought, shaking her head. "Yeah, well, it didn't really matter."

(_lies, lies, lies, lies, lies_)

Allison took the silence to muse over her own thoughts. Why wasn't she asking him all those pent up questions she had been dying to ask? Where did the determination from earlier go? Claire's words came back at full force – _if he wanted you he would have done something about it_ – and Allison scoffed under her breath.

Andrew glanced at her out of the corner of his eye – and for a moment she thought that he was going to say something, _anything_ – before looking down at a piece of popcorn left on the bleachers.

She wasn't a passive person – she said what was on her mind, no matter who that person was. Why she was suddenly so _shy_ was beyond her. Her stomach started to ache with the same feeling that she got whenever she had to do a speech in front of the class or go on a particularly high roller coaster ride at an amusement park.

"Look," she took a shuddering breath, shivering from the cold, "I get it if you don't like me or whatever, but don't just ignore me, okay? I'm not some little pretty girl who would cry over something stupid like that."

She winced at her wording since he had found her crying (and over _him_, no less) but held her head high and caught his gaze. He shifted and reached up to run a hand through his hair, the basketball lying forgotten at his feet.

"I didn't, um, mean to, you know?"

Allison shook her head sarcastically, "sure do."

"Uh, no, I mean… I was just…" He stammered, scratching his cheek, a light dusting of pink running over the bridge of his nose. "I uh, I don't know why I did that…"

"I do," she gripped the cold metal of the bleachers in her fist. "You're ashamed to be seen with me… Just like Claire said."

Despite Allison's abrasion to pink and everything remotely _Claire Standish_, she supposed that she did owe the girl an apology. She pushed that to the back of her mind when Andrew's head ducked lower than it had been before, hands fidgeting nervously on his lap.

"It wasn't like that…"

Allison shook her head, "it was though."

"I wasn't…"

"You're embarrassed to be seen with me." She grinned but felt no humor.

"I'm not embarrassed, Allison, I just-" he jerkily ran his hand through his short hair, an aggravated sigh leaving his mouth, "you don't understand what it's like to be _me_, alright. My dad, my friends, my coach – they push me into being the star athlete, the school idol and I-"

She heard this all before – a dictating father living his dreams though his son, friend's who constantly want him to do things they way they wanted, a social standard that he was supposed to live up to – and knew right away that she wouldn't belong anywhere in his little circle of commitments.

"And I don't fit into what _they_ want – and of course, since you're a follower, you're going to go along with their flawed logic because, hey, what's happiness and trying new things to getting a scholarship and having your father pat you on the back for living the life he initially wanted, right?"

"You don't know a _thing_ about my-" His brow furrowed together and he bit his lip, "you just can't understand, okay?"

"Try me," she challenged, glaring up at him.

He shook his head, "just… drop it alright."

"Drop what, the kiss, Saturday, or your conformity?"

"I'm not -" he shook his head, "it's complicated."

"Oh, and you think that you're the only one who's confused about this? That you're the only one who has a shitty life? Get real, Andrew," Allison stood up from the bleaches, narrowing her eyes down at him. "We _all_ have shitty lives but there's a difference between people like you and people like me – people like you wallow in it and don't try to change, doing whatever someone tells you to whereas people like me do something about it and don't care what people say. You need to really get a life."

With that, Allison stormed away from him, leaving Andrew (the cause of her current turmoil and conflicting emotions) sitting on the bleachers alone.

* * *

><p><strong>Note:<strong> Uwaaah, how terrible is that? No fluff – and here I thought I'd be swimming in it by now, thinking of rainbows and puppies and sugar, but nope, it's all _angst_…And Claire… because Molly Ringwald rocks my socks to the max. Next chapter will be posted soon (due to the Holidays and everything else that decided to pile on to the ever-growing list of things to do, it might not be until later in the week. Probably around Friday (which would be weird since the title chapter will be of the same name). ^^ Hoped you enjoyed.


	6. vi friday

I originally posted this chapter already, but I wasn't satisfied with the ending and how horrible it was, so I decided to re-do it. It's not a huge change to the chapter, but the ending is _way _different. ^^ The (last...?) chapter will be up sometime this week, as well as a little prologue-type thing.

Enjoy!

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><p>[<strong>vi. Friday<strong>]

The stale tasting crackers leave a mess of crumbs on her worn jacket. She brushes them off with disinterest, ignoring the pointed looks of disgust the girls in the row next to her send. In an act of retaliation, she purposely shoves a handful of the crackers in her mouth, chewing nosily. They huff with indignation at her antics, and turn around, whispering furiously to one another.

Beside her, Claire snorts lowly. "Mature, much?"

"Woh?"

"Ew, try not to spit everywhere."

Swallowing, Allison grins sardonically at the disgruntled girl. "I'll try."

Cheers from the crowd around them on the bleachers drown out Claire's retort. Grimacing, Allison covers her ears, blocking out the noise they cause. It was too cold to be outside – even for the middle of March – this morning, but their football team was playing a game against a rival school and everyone (or at least the students whose teacher's wanted to go) was supposed to be in attendance. The choices in the matter were narrow: it was either the game or detention, which would ultimately mean more school work.

Aside from not understanding anything that was going on in the field and the bitter chill that hung in the air, it was a much better alternative to doing class work. She would've skipped school had she known about the lack of options available, but the principal made it adamantly clear that if she missed another day, they would put her in detention with a reason this time. Spending another Saturday with Vernon (with a legitimate purpose for her attendance) was not something she wanted.

Going to school like a good girl seemed to be the only safe option. It was also more practical, as her attendance was starting to become Bender-level deliquesce. Allison saw Claire in homeroom, a dainty pink coat wrapped around her smaller body as she listened to her friend's talk about how they wouldn't be able to cheer because of the cold.

One mocking glance from the strawberry haired girl gave her enough incentive to actually begin to tolerate her. In some strange way, they were bonding more and more as the week progressed. Allison wasn't confident to call it a friendship, but at least they weren't clawing each other's eyes out.

Claire saw it as more of brooding over the fact that Bender was ignoring her and Andrew was ignoring Allison. Vehemently, she refused to acknowledge that, and insisted that Claire was stalking her instead. It was easier than to admit that she might have been right about their similar situations, even though she would rather walk on glass over grouping Claire Standish in the same category as herself.

"I actually hate football," Claire says, breaking the silence that lingered between them after the jeering interruption. It was Allison's turn to snort. Seeing the disbelief on her face, Claire continues hastily. "I only watch it because I'm a cheerleader and I'm supposed to, you know."

"Not really," she grins at the other's girl's look of exasperation. "Fine, whatever, so you hate football. Why?"

Shivering against the cold gust of wind that rushes by, she rolls her eyes. "It's, like, really, _really _boring. My dad takes me to games sometimes because he just wants to drink beer without having my mum fuss about it. I've only been to two with him, though; after the first game he started to realize that I didn't care, so he drops me off at the mall with his credit card and picks me up when it's over."

"Oh, how tragic, Claire," She mocks, throwing her a condescending eye roll. "The poor children in Africa really can't compare to that woeful story."

Smacking her lightly, Claire grins regardless of the teasing. "Shut up, okay? I'm trying to be sentimental here."

"Well don't;" she reaches for another cracker, "it's really weird."

A laugh of indignation comes beside her as Claire grabs the cracker from her hand. "You're calling me weird? I never thought I'd see the day…"

Allison grumbles under her breath, but takes no insult to the jab. Repeatedly, she tries to tell herself that they weren't friends until Claire taps her shoulder and points to a girl with a bad perm, and says something that makes her laugh loudly. Eventually, she gives up and stops trying to convince herself altogether.

"Hey, look its Andrew!" Claire suddenly shouts, jabbing her in her arm with her elbow. "He scored a touchdown."

Her heart does not beat furiously at the name and her palms do not get sweaty. She isn't some love-stuck teenager who's chasing the quarterback with puppy eyes and a long list of clichés. That sort of thing on happened in the movies, and this was not a movie. Allison was not interested in him anymore.

He was a coward.

Just another stupid, stupid boy who did what he was told.

Shrugging, she crumples the empty cracker wrapper in her hand and drops it onto the bleacher floor. "So…? I don't care."

She has a habit of lying and Claire knows this. "If that's the case, then I guess you won't care about Mary, you know, the girl who asked him out last night."

The threads of her heart clench painfully. She knew Mary; they went to middle school together. She was gorgeous and popular and _normal_. "Oh, good for them."

"Mm," Claire hums, rubbing her hands together, "I'd say so too, but the thing is – he said no."

Allison swallows down the shred of hope that rushes through her at those words. He said _no_; Andrew turned Mary down. Shaking her head against her foolishness and baseless excitement, she clenches her hands in her lap. Just because he said no to Mary, that didn't mean he wanted to date her. He probably doesn't like her, that's all.

Still, she can't help not to feel a trickle of relief that he turned her down.

"Which is really weird, because he also said he liked someone else," Claire continued, watching Allison out of the corner of her eye. "I mean, I don't know anyone else he kissed on a Saturday after detention, but I'm pretty sure-"

"I don't care," she denied the other girl's words quickly, refusing to let the hope inside grow any bigger. It was stupid to think that Andrew – the same person who went with what everyone else said or did – would like her. She wasn't popular and had no friends. If they did go out, he would be subjected to ridicule everyday. Someone like him, who thrived on the opinion on others, would never be able to hack that sort of treatment.

She blocks out Claire's words for the remainder of the game until the rosette haired teen finally gives up with a sigh. Neither of them speaks, watching the game in silence. Once it's over, Claire stands up and follows Allison back into the school. Finally, she turns to the darker haired girl and narrows her eyes: "don't play stupid, Allison, you know he likes you, but maybe you're just too afraid to admit it," before she turned on her heel and followed her peers to her next class.

Afraid? That was laughable. Allison made it clear that she liked him, but he refuted her with his qualms about what everyone else would think. Maybe he did like her, but it wasn't as if he was going to do something about it. He made it clear yesterday that he was more focused on public approval.

She slammed her locker door shut, ignoring the freshmen giving her a strange look, and leaned against the cool metal. Her conflicting thoughts were giving her a headache that pounded in her skull. Why Andrew so confusing? And more importantly, why couldn't she just ignore him like she did everyone else? What was so special about him?

He was Andrew Clarke, the only boy who made her want to punch them in the face and kiss them at the same time. The walking contradiction who was probably the biggest conformist she knew. He hated all the things he surrounded himself with but did nothing about it. He was a follower of the crowd.

So, why did she like him so much?

"Uh, hey, Allison," the familiar husky voice whispered, sounding so close.

The bell rang but neither of them paid it any attention. She slowly detached herself from her locker, turning to face the sandy haired boy who'd been plaguing her constantly since Saturday. He stood awkward in the middle of the hall, backpack slung over one shoulder and his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

After yesterday's confrontation, she didn't think she would see him again. Or at least, she wouldn't talk to her anymore; or maybe he'd avoid her at all costs, aside from scathing remarks in the boys locker room about how much of a _weird bitch _she really was. Really, she wouldn't blame him if he did; if anyone spoke to her like that, she'd probably stick her tongue out childishly and throw crumpled up paper at their head all day.

"What do you want?" Always on the defensive with him, she noted. "Why aren't you with _Mary_ or someone?"

He blinked, processing her words that she didn't mean to say. They slipped out before she could stop them. Andrew's eyes widened after a moments beat. "Oh, you heard about that, huh?"

"Yeah," she scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "I did."

"I turned her down," he admitted, much like Claire said.

Once again, Allison found herself pushing away that same shred of hope that kept resurfacing. "What do you want anyway?"

"I, uh, I was going to my locker, but I saw you…"

It stung more than it should. "Like I care."

"Um, hey," he shifted awkwardly, pulling one hand out of his pocket to latch onto the strap of his backpack. "Do you really want to go to fourth?"

"Like hell," she scoffed.

Andrew grinned.

(Allison pretended that her heart didn't skip a beat.)

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><p>"I wonder what your friend's are going to say when they find out you skipped with me," she says idly, walking two steps behind him, hands burrowed deep in her pockets. The chill left behind from December still lingered in March and she was feeling it seep through her worn brown jacket. Shivering, her dug her hands deeper into the warm cocoon of her pockets, and counts the cracks on the sidewalk, waiting for his response.<p>

Andrew Clarke asking her, Allison Reynolds, to skip with him was definitely not under the jock's approval system, or whatever biased means of social hierarchy he followed so religiously. Claire broke free from it – sort of; her wanting to talk to Allison was chalked up to feeling bitter about Bender and needing someone in a similar situation to brood over. Since Allison was the only other girl who could relate to being left behind when Monday came, she was using her as an outlet.

Of course, this was the only probability that made sense.

Refusing to see it as anything else, it was the single remaining explanation as to why someone like Claire would want to even been seen with someone like Allison. She didn't directly say they were friends – although, the attempt had been made, once on Claire's part – and Allison was comfortable with the way things were between them.

They could talk to one another without the faux pleasantries that came along with it. Allison could say whatever she wanted without fearing their friendship and Claire could do the same. She didn't see them having sleepovers or gossiping together anytime soon, but was thankful for the mutual acquaintance they had.

She didn't have anyone else to talk about Andrew with, and Claire's friend's would die if they found out she liked Bender.

Andrew slowed his pace, letting her catch up to him easily as they fell into a steady walk through the park. It was practically empty, aside from a few younger children with their parents and an old man sitting on the bus bench. Allison never skipped school to go to a park before; normally, she would take refugee in the public library, huddle in the corner, hunched over a book by Plath* as the other occupants tried to figure out whose kid she was or if she was going to steal anything.

The change of scenery was welcome, especially when she thinks of spending the day in a stuffy classroom, trying not to fall asleep.

"Maybe I don't care what they think."

The words spoken in his husky tone send a flash of nervousness through her. Insisting that he was only putting up a c_ool-guy_ front, she rebuffs him with a knock to his arm with her shoulder. "Maybe I think you're full of shit."

Unlike her, he doesn't take the defensive as easily, and pushes his arm back against her shoulder, uttering a quiet: "Maybe I'm not."

Allison pulls away, mind reeling at the implications his words have. "What do you want anyway?"

Blinking at the suddenness of her attitude, he clears his throat beside her. "What do you mean?"

"Why are you doing this – skipping with me, acting as if nothing happened? You're too confusing." He scoffs, but she ignores him. "What do you even want, anyway?"

He stops walking, standing in the middle of the park with his hands buried in his pockets. "I – uh, I…"

"If you don't like me, say so! I'm a big girl, I can handle it, you know –"

Andrew falters, pulling his hands out and running them his short hair. Dropping them to his side, their hands brush and he throws he a cautious look, but says nothing.

She's been doing so much pretending up until that point that it comes naturally to her as she blames the onslaught of nervous tingles spreading through her on the cold. Shaking herself from the rousing emotions, she bites her lip harshly, trying to calm her erratically beating heart.

Andrew's eyes were on her face, watching her pout. She hates the effect he has on her; he's just some stupid boy, so why did he _matter_? With no answer to her questions, she squares her shoulders, turning her glare on him instead. The words tumble out before she can process them, biting and sharp like the cold chill surrounding them.

"Why did you kiss me?"

Shocked, he stares agape at her, blinking quickly. "I-I…"

"Whatever - just forget it," she spits, turning away from him when he suddenly looks away. The embarrassment that rushes through her was almost painful and she doesn't want to hear his retort. He says nothing and the humiliation is too much to bear; the bitter sting of rejection burns her, and even though she was sure she set herself up for it, Allison can't stop the angry, embarrassed tears from filling her eyes.

As she is about to run, desperate to get away from him, she feels his hand curl over her shoulder, stopping her movements. "A-Allison, wait…"

When she glances over at him, he clears his throat once, a dusting of pink spreading over the bridge of his nose.

"What?" She snaps, bitterly wiping away the tears that threaten to spill from her eyes. Usually, she wasn't a crier. Kicking and screaming and biting and throwing things were her style of when something hurt her or she was angry. It was the only way to gain any attention from her parents when she did so, but with Andrew, all of her confrontations were done in tears or angry words. It's confounds her in ways she can't express; she wasn't one to show her pain so easily – but that didn't seem to be the case with him.

Andrew reaches up, brushing a stray tear from her eye. The pad of his rough thumb running across her cheekbone sends her stomach churning. His eyes suddenly look more intense as he stares at her. His adam's apple bobs up and down once as he gulps thickly, then, so quietly she's staining to hear him, he says: "I kissed you because I wanted to."

There weren't any cliché fireworks at his confession (if it could really count as a confession) or any sparks like they described in the movies and books, and she certainly doesn't 'melt', but she does feel heavier. Like a thick blanket being dropped over shoulders from above, it makes her knees quake and her pulse quicken. Her face heats up when he looks at her away. Swallowing, she sniffs, trying to cover up the momentary embarrassment (and happiness that flutters through her at his words), she moves over and punches him.

"Like I care." She lies. "Since when does Andrew 'Follow the Leader' Clarke does what he wants to?"

"Heh," he grins, cheeks flushing in embarrassment or from the cold, rubbing his arm. "I can think for myself, you know."

She scoffs, but says nothing to him, letting his words wash over her. If she believes him now, and sets herself up for the inevitable whiplash he is sure to cause her come tomorrow when he wants nothing to do with Allison Reynolds, the weird girl, anymore and starts to date that Mary-what'sherface, she isn't sure she can handle it. Her devil-may-care facade only went as far as she could throw it.

When it came to Andrew, her aim was terrible.

"So," he sniffs, wiping his nose on the back of his hand. "Uh, what about you?"

Blaming the sudden shiver that races down her spine on the cold and her tattered jacket, not on the low tone of his voice, she glances at him. His face his even redder, smearing across his cheeks and neck, and he shifts awkwardly from foot to foot, refusing to meet her stare.

"What about me?"

Coughing into his hand, he mumbles out a sentence, face becoming a brighter tinge. "D-do you like me?"

Andrew's voice was low and she strained to hear him over the gusts of wind blowing against her. _Do you like me_? His hesitant words, whispered in almost a vulnerable tone, wash over her like cold water, drenching her to the bone. Instead of blushing at his words, giggling shrilly and swatting his arm flirtatiously, she's get angry. Obviously she likes him. What kind of question was that?

Turning toward him, ready to yell and scream and kick and lie until she's cornered, his imploring, honest look stops her. Andrew Clarke wasn't supposed to look at her like that - open, shy and as though she were the most amazing thing in the world. He was supposed to give her a hesitant smile in the hallway when she passed by, then when she was out of hearing range, tear her to pieces with his friend's standing around him, laughing and cheering him on.

He looks regretful now (maybe he shouldn't have told her?); avoiding her eye, shifting nervously, and shoving his hands in and out of his pocket. When they lock gazes once, she can see the slight panic swimming behind his brown eyes.

Sighing, she hunched her shoulders up to her neck in irritation. Did he really have to ask such stupid question? Then she remembered that he was Andrew Clarke - the stupid boy who needed reassurance and guidance from someone else, because he was a perpetual follower - and she was Allison Reynolds: the girl who didn't care about what people thought and wore too much eyeliner and not enough concealer.

"No shit, Sherlock," she rolls her eyes like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Then, because she's Allison Reynolds and he's Andrew Clarke, she punches him for asking such a stupid question.

* * *

><p>* Plath is a reference to the amazing Sylvia Plath.<p>

On and ending note, I'm so excited about this new ending - and I hope you all are too. pleaseenjoyanddon'tforgettoreview. =]


	7. vii saturday

**arms**

**note1: **i know it's, like, a couple of months late, but i had no inspiration to write this out when i should've and then my computer got a virus. i, personally, blame this all on malware and procrastination.  
><strong>note2: <strong>i seriously can't believe this is over though. wow, it's been, like, a year (maybe) since i posted the first chapter. i wanted to thank everyone who added this to their favorites, reviewed, and even alerted my work – a more in depth extension of my sincerest gratitude (english class = dictionary = my thesaurus abuse) is at the end. also, there is a bit of Claire/Allison friendship and Claire/Bender-dromance. (drama/romance)

**inspiration: **_arms_ by christina perri

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**Saturday**

She wasn't used to being awake so early in the morning.

The clock was barely touching nine and she was already finished all the tasks that normally would have taken her an entire evening to complete – if she woke up before five, that is. Breakfast was cooked, served, eaten, and the dishes washed; a rarity, considering she _never_ did her own dishes. Usually they piled high in the sink until her mother (or sometimes even her dad) would get tired to seeing the mess of spoiled food and family of flies that lived inside a bowl or cup, and just wash them. She was even dressed, too. That never happened on the weekends. At all. Pajamas stayed on when she woke up, throughout the day, and didn't come off until she took a shower, only to put another, cleaner pair on.

Maybe it was from the lack of sleep she had last night; tossing and turning, pushing the blankets off and then on, stripping down to a simple pair of shorts and then back to pants. For some reason her mind wouldn't turn off. She couldn't reach that heavenly nirvana and sleep until the early morning where she managed only an hour nap before something woke her up. Shockingly enough, she felt as though she drank fourteen cups of coffee with an extra dose of caffeine on the side. Waking up, Allison felt rejuvenated and ready to take on the day.

Her mother nearly had a heart attack when she saw her walking out of the washroom, up before herself, dressing and actually looking 'presentable' for a change. Taking Claire's advice on what to do with her hair – for some reason, the choppy John Lennon locks that fell into her eyes wasn't as rebellious and dark as she'd previously thought. It looks as though she was trying too hard to be labeled as 'mysterious,' even though she knew she was practically an open book.

("It's like, you say one thing, but totally mean something else entirely.")

Her heart stumbled in her chest, beating too fast in her rib-cage at the wayward thought. Swallowing thickly, Allison dropping her gaze to the table cloth, hoping to hide the red hue that undoubtedly taken residence on her pale face, hoping that her dad didn't notice the sudden change from where he was seated, reading the newspaper. Across from her father sat her mother, thankfully committed to the glossy pages of a magazine with a slender woman on the front cover, wearing a pile of cheetah spotted furs.

If her mother had seen her reaction – the blush on her cheeks, the sudden change in demeanor – she would have asked questions. _What's wrong_, she'd press, more out of necessity than real interest. How was she supposed to respond to that? _I was thinking of some boy_? No. Not 'some boy;' he'd never be just _some boy_, a passing face in the crowd who she was bound to soon forget.

The boy she was thinking of could never be considered _some boy_ anymore. He was Andrew Clarke. _The _boy; the one who seen her for herself and accepted it more than anyone (including her own parents) ever had in the past.

What would her parents say to that? She didn't want to think of the ramifications that would ensue following her confession.

Her mother would probably have a heart attack; shocked to death from finding out her daughter was showing any interest in anything that didn't revolve around her perceived image of Allison: a loner, intentionally isolating herself from any socialization because she wanted to rebel against whatever it was her mother thought at that time, whether it was being feminine or the color pink. Her father wouldn't care either way; his gaze probably would not leave the sports page of the newspaper.

Deliberately, she moves herself from the table slowly, trying to remain invisible to her listless parents. With their attention firmly directed away from her, Allison feels as though she's able to breathe. There is restriction at first, while she's still in the same room as them, but when she crosses through the arch of the kitchen doorway and into the living room, it gets easier and easier.

The tightness in her chest doesn't stop until she's in her room, sitting cross-legged on her bed, clutching the same patch that belonged to the boy who was more to her than anything in her entire room. For one, fleeting second she deliberates calling him, just to hear his voice and reassure herself once more that yesterday – and the earlier days before – were more than some idealistic fantasy her mind conjured up.

It was silly and stupid. It was only ten in the morning; Andrew would've been sleeping now. She also wasn't _that_ kind of girl. She would be seeing him eventually anyway. They were going to meet later and go out for a bite to eat. It wasn't anything huge; just some local diner that served really good root-beer floats and cheap burgers.

It wasn't anything special.

Only, it was.

This was going to be their first official date. The place they were going was a spot frequented by many of Claire's and Andrew's friends' (even some of Bender's, too). Everyone there was going to be able to see them on their date.

Was he ready for that kind of thing? Was _she_?

Allison didn't like being pushed in the spotlight, where everyone's eyes would be on her. It was a strange feeling, like ants crawling all over her body, and she didn't like it. The invasion of privacy, the paranoia of wondering what people were thinking (she tried not to care about it so much, but when it's right there, shoved in her face, wayward thoughts tend to seep through the cracks), the embarrassment of trying not to do or say anything stupid, all caused her to feel a great unease.

If she went to the diner with Andrew, and all of his friends' were there, she'd have to sit through the entire meal with their haughty gazes and catty whispers. She wasn't new to it at all; they'd made fun of her before (in grade nine when she showed up an hour late, with choppy black hair that hung in her face, just missing the rush to sort out which person belonged to which clique; she'd gotten pushed back into the outcast social group before she even realized what was happening), but that was just petty words or flimsy insults that held no injury to her.

_Look at her hair._

_Look at her clothes._

_She looks weird, stupid, mean, freaky…_

This time, they'd be staring at her _and _Andrew, probably asking the same question that was plaguing her since the end of Saturday morning detention a week ago:_ what's _he_ doing with someone like _her? Could she really handle one of her biggest insecurities of their relationship being thrown in her face like that?

Sure, maybe for a couple of days, nobody would say anything to their face. Andrew's friends' might make a passing comment on who he was dating and why, but it wouldn't stray into anything deeper. They would all still be friends. Sitting together would still be a ritual they all practiced, as would hanging out on weekends and after school.

But then, Andrew would have Allison sit with them, throwing the relationship (once again) in their face. Someone might comment, but probably not. Not yet. Eventually, when they realized Allison was there to stay, one of his friends will ask him the big question: _why are you dating her_? He would be put on the spot then. How would he answer? Would he tell them that she was his girlfriend and some other sappy monologue speech about how they were together now and his friends' were going to either get used to it or leave.

One or two friends' might stop asking to hang out after school. Then two more would follow their lead. Two or three (depending on the extent of their true friendship with Andrew) weeks into their 'outing,' they would be sitting at a table alone, with all of his 'friends' sitting somewhere else. Andrew Clarke would become an outcast. He would be dropped from the top of the hypothetical food-chain to the bottom in an instant.

He would panic. Andrew's always been so popular; the likable jock who was such an extrovert around people, he wouldn't know how to act in a world of introverts. When all of his friends' stop talking to him, and that nerdy kid who used to run out of the way when they walked past, suddenly starts talking to him like their _equals_, Andrew would lose it.

He wouldn't be the popular one anymore.

He'd be another social misfit – the same kind he used to make fun of before.

Maybe if he left her earlier enough, he could climb his way back up before it's too late.

What would happen to her during this?

Allison wouldn't ever be welcomed. People would talk behind her back, whispering words of falsehoods into Andrew's ear (_"she's only using you to become popular. She doesn't really like you_.") hoping to see their relationship crumble. When it all turns south and starts to deteriorate, she'd be blamed for his fallacies about their relationship.

The girls' who hung around Andrew would get jealous. They'd get catty. And soon, Allison's name would be a tarnished testament of their will on pathetic high school ideologies of social scales and popularity.

She was used to it.

It wouldn't be anything new.

But, it would.

She'd never been the bane of their contempt before - the real reason behind their misdirected animosity. When they made fun of her, it was usually because they _saw _her, not _sought _her out intentionally. What would happen when they purposely went looking for her? Claire might stand beside her, but Allison is more likely to believe that if you put ice cream in hot temperatures, it won't melt than she would depend on Claire Standish for help.

(They were – sort of – friends, sure, but they only started speaking civilly to each other a few days ago. Why would Claire suddenly switch sides from people she's known her whole life to someone she'd barely ever came into contact with for more than a few minutes before her detention?)

When Andrew left – maybe he'd be allowed back into his _clique_ – where would that leave her? Alone. She could count all of her friends on one hand, starting and beginning with Andrew. The second was Claire. The other one was a girl she'd met over the summer when her parents forced her to do something productive. They didn't talk anymore, excluding the occasional phone call to see if either was still alive.

That was her whole circle of friends.

Allison thought that she was okay by herself.

(And she was, for the most part.)

She didn't need anyone to shower her with fake compliments and superficial conversations. Being alone was a _choice_, not an obligation. She would've made friends if she wanted to but she didn't.

Bender was – kind of, maybe, probably not – a friend.

They had detention together and _defaced _one of the school's yearbooks.

It was fun.

For, you know, being in detention.

But Bender had his own group of people who did not (and probably never will) include Allison.

So.

After Andrew left and Claire came to her senses (or realized that her civic duty was going overboard into _volunteer work_), she'd be all by herself. Once again. Before it wouldn't have mattered to her; she would've picked herself up, dusted herself off, and walked away from the situation with her head held high, daring anyone to make a comment.

Or she would have slinked back into the background again – the proverbial wallflower.

Or maybe, she was overreacting.

It was only dinner.

How bad could it be?

* * *

><p>Claire Standish was at her doorstep.<p>

Standing there in all her gorgeous glory was the single most popular girl at school – at _her _house.

Asking for _her_.

Was she lost? Did she take the wrong bus and end up on the wrong side of the tracks, so to speak? Her house was all the way down in east-end of town, where all the lawns were maintained by professionals and every house is the same shade of white, with grey rooftops and blue doors, and white picked-fences.

Allison's house was on the south-end of town. Not exactly the west, per se, but in the mundane middle of their town. Not rich, but not too poor either; a perfect balance for the semi-middle class who made a modest income. Allison's dad cut their grass (or sometimes he'd pay the boy down the street a few dollars to do it) and it wasn't painted, but bricked.

Nobody's house on the block looked like theirs.

Seeing Claire with her impeccably clean (and probably expensive) wardrobe, whilst a rundown old pickup truck was parked in a trailer-like house across the street, made her shrink with embarrassment. She never had a problem with where she lived before. It was a good house. It wasn't like the roof was torn off and the plumbing was faulty, causing leaks to spring up everywhere; she didn't have any mice, cockroaches, or other small mammals running amok in her home. Sure, maybe the grass would've been a little greener, but it was March and still cold. And maybe her room couldn't have been bigger… Or that stain on the washroom wall that refused to come out… or all the clutter in her basement…

For some reason, she was a little uncomfortable with Claire seeing her house.

"What do you want?"

At the sound of Allison's voice, Claire blinked and took a cautious step-back. To Allison, it looked as though she just woke up from a dream, surprised to actually find herself in a place she had no recollection being at. She took a moment to compose herself, idly looking around. The cool look she was going for slipped away as she realized this wasn't _east-side_. She opened her mouth (and Allison's hunches rose, ready to take the defensive; she was waiting for something to come out, anything that would be a mockery of the house she lived in) and said:

"Hi."

She flinched slightly at the open tone of her voice, the familiar and friendly term blindsided her for a second. Hi. Claire Standish comes to _her _house and says _hi_? Did she accidentally fall into a multi-verse where they were friends and did this often? Like it was usual occurrence and not something that was so out of character for both, she was waiting to see a galloping unicorn to suddenly burst through her living room and announce itself as her long-lost uncle.

There must have been a serious glitch in reality.*

"Hi," she reiterated slowly, suspicion seeping into her every pore. "What do you want?"

This time, Claire flinched. "I…um, wanted to see you…I guess…"

Suddenly, she felt kind of bad.

Normally, this didn't happen to her. She never felt bad for something she didn't do. Claire came to her house, why did she have to shower the girl with hospitality and make her feel warm and welcome? She didn't. So why did the self-conscious look on Claire's face bit at her conscience?

"Okay," she said, trying to be a little nicer. Claire didn't do anything wrong. She was actually civil to her the past few days. "What's up?"

She tried the generic term instead of usual biting sarcasm.

The other girl seemed to appreciate it much more as her shoulder rolled down, and relaxed making her posture not as stiff. "Um, it's kind of…Of… It's Bender. Can I come in?"

* * *

><p>"I couldn't exactly tell anyone I knew…"<p>

That was the first thing Claire opened up with after making herself comfortable on Allison's bed, looking around the room in polite interest. Her bed was actually made for once, cutesy of her early wakening (or lack of sleep and an overactive imagination), but the rest of the room was in a slight disarray.

Clothes were strewn on the floor carelessly, some spilling out of her closet and draped over her dresser drawers. It was her room, so, whatever; if Claire had a problem with it…

Allison's defensive thoughts stopped short when she saw a small smile grace the other girl's lips as she stared openly at an art piece Allison drew over the span of three math periods. It was nice; she liked it and bought a frame for it. The drawing was mostly scribbles, but if you looked closer, they all attached to each other and made little doodles and words.

"…Nobody else – aside from Andrew, you, and Brian – know about him. It would've been too… weird to talk to my friend's about him."

"Why? Embarrassed," Allison shot back, narrowing her eyes.

Claire looked affronted. "_No_; could you imagine, though? My friends' and _him_ – in the same conversation, no less…Their heads might have imploded."

Snorting, she turned the desk chair around in a full circle, trying to hide the grin from Claire. "So, what, you came to me instead?"

"Yes." She admitted sheepishly. "You're the only one who, I don't know… _gets_ it, maybe?"

"I am? Since when?"

"Gee, Allison, if you don't want me here, just say so…"

"No, it's cool; I'm just…surprised."

She winced at the urgency in her voice, trying to quickly placate the other girl into staying for a while longer. Was she that desperate for human companionship?

"Okay," Claire smiled at her. "Ready to hear about drama?"

Allison rolled her eyes and leaned back in the chair, smirking. "Bring it on."

* * *

><p>"He asked you out?!" The loud shrieks made her grimace, wishing she could take it back.<p>

How they got from the topic of Bender's mixed signals and emotional whiplash to her and Andrew's date was still a mystery. Claire was going on about the confusion Bender plagued her with, and for some reason, Allison blurted out the tit-bit of information she was wholly ready to keep to herself.

Swallowing down the sudden apprehension she felt, Allison nodded. "I guess. It's only burgers, so whatever…"

"Not whatever, Allison," she insisted, her eyes growing wider. "When is he taking you? It's already two in the afternoon."

"Six," she answered with a shrug.

Claire slapped her hands across her knees, startling Allison, who jumped in shock. "Dinner. Andrew Clarke is taking you to _dinner_! Where are you going?"

She wanted to keep that piece of information to herself, and tell Claire to get out of her house and leave her alone. They weren't friends; she had no obligation to start skipping together with the girl who'd ignored her (aside from the times she ridiculed her behind her back) for the majority of her high school years.

But a part of her wanted to tell Claire; to lay out all of her insecurities and doubts about Andrew and herself flat on the table for her to see. She wanted Claire's friendship and help on a matter where she had no one else to go to.

Biting her lip, she debated for a minute.

"_Rick's_."

There.

Claire knew.

Instead of the reaction she thought she'd get (Claire standing up and laughing at her mockingly, confessing to it all being some elaborate prank they'd pulled on her, and Andrew was in on it), Claire's face fell slight.

"_Rick's_ diner," she confirmed.

Allison nodded in reply.

"Wow…That's…Everyone's going to be there tonight."

"What do you mean?"

"He didn't tell you? The team is celebrating their win there."

She swallowed thickly. Everyone was going there. The whole team, including their girl friends (who were all cheerleaders or hung out with cheerleaders), and other friends, would be there to see them. What was Andrew thinking? Was he even thinking or was this some spur of the moment thing that he didn't plan all the way through?

"Hey, don't worry too much about it, okay? I'll be there, so if it gets out of control…"

"What are you really going to do Claire?" She snapped, waves of humiliation crashing into her. He set this up. Andrew was bringing her there so everyone could make fun of her for falling for his lame trick. "You're just going to sit there, acting like you don't know me, saying what everyone else is."

_I like you_. What a joke.

_Let's do something tonight, just me and you_. Yeah, right…

_It'll be fun_. For you and your stupid friends only.

"I'm sorry…" she heard Claire whisper gently. "I wouldn't do that…"

"Only, you would."

"…Sorry."

"But you're not! I bet you and Andrew planned this from the start!"

"We didn't!"

"Get out and leave me alone! You've had you fun okay? Just go away…"

"No."

Her head shot up as Claire stood, walking over to her chair. Pale, well manicured hands slammed down on the arms of the chair. She glanced into fuming green eyes and shrank back instinctively.

"Listen to me, Allison Reynolds," she hissed, narrowing her eyes, firmly cutting off any retort Allison was going to make. "Andrew and I did not set you up. Did you ever think that maybe he planned to bring you there-"

"-So all of his friends could have a laugh?"

"_No_, because he wanted to show his friends that he chose _you_ instead of them, but you're too damn scared to open your eyes and see for yourself what's right in front of you!"

Her words hung in the air, raw and biting, chipping away at Allison's defenses.

That was ridiculous.

She wasn't scared.

Not one bit.

Andrew was the one who didn't want to be seen with her. She was the one who told him off. He avoided her. She sought him out. Where in that equation did it add up to her being scared? It didn't. If anything, it was _Andrew_ who's scared.

She was just being realistic about everything.

What if he was going to set her up? Should she play along to their pathetic joke and be (once again) at the receiving end of their ridicule? She wasn't going to purposely put herself in that kind of situation for someone to get a hearty laugh out of it.

Claire didn't know what she was saying.

She didn't know what it was like to walk down a hall and have people whisper about you. Or ignore you. Or deface your locker. Or call you an array of poorly conceived names. Claire had friends (fake as they were) whereas Allison didn't. What gave her the right to tell Allison what she was feeling? So they spoke to each other a few times, how did that suddenly make her higher and mightier than her?

Stupid.

She was so stupid.

"How am I scared?" She stood up, pushing Claire back in her sudden haste to be taller, to be equal with the other girl. Glaring firmly, she crossed her arms over her chest (not because it _hurt_ or anything; she had apple juice and it gave her acid reflex and seethed, watching as Claire brought herself up to her full height (an inch taller than Allison) and glared back.

"You're scared." She repeated simply, enunciating the words. "You think that we're all conspiring against you when, in reality, Andrew is just being _nice_. He's trying to show you that he cares, that he wants to be with you – even if it means losing some friends in the process. Why? Because he _likes_ you. You, Allison, nobody else but _you_, but you're just too stubborn and hardheaded to see it!"

Her mouth tasted like ashes.

Any retort she may have had died down instantly, refusing to be said. Her throat felt heavy and thick, like something foreign was clogging it. Swallowing reflexively, she tried to think of something to say – anything to defend herself, to disagree with the unfounded assumptions Claire was throwing her way – but nothing came to mind.

Standing there, fingernails digging into her forearms, biting harshly through the fabric to her clothed skin, Allison was speechless.

No, that would imply she had nothing to say.

She had something – many things – to say, but her mouth and mind weren't cooperating at that moment. Her mouth bolted shut, refusing to let anything out, keeping everything tightly wrapped up, while her mind stirred in a flurry of backlash she wanted to dish out.

In her head she was screaming, crying, and ripping Claire's notions to shreds. A triad of emotions was buzzing around, fighting for the spotlight, all wanting to take center stage. The most prominent ones were anger, hurt, begrudged acceptance at her words, and finally, a deep feeling of humiliation.

Why was Claire – of all people – the one to point out all of her insecurities so openly when she couldn't even admit them to herself? Who wouldn't have doubts about his motives when, before last Saturday, he'd never even glanced her way for something other than a fleeting look or an accidental peek? At first, she thought she knew what she wanted: _Andrew Clarke_. Now, when she practically had that, she wasn't sure anymore.

She loved him.

Oh.

_Love_? No. She meant like. She _liked_ him.

Claire was messing with her head.

As her inner turmoil continued to spin with the new revelation of both Claire's and her own assumptions, she failed to notice the other girl standing before her until two thin arms wrapped themselves around her midsection and a warm body collided with her own. The act caught her by surprise. She wasn't a touchy kind of person (and to be honest, she didn't think Claire was one either) and the suddenness of being hugged made everything pause and coil up tightly.

"What are you doing?" She rasped out, stiffening in her hold.

"You looked like you needed it," Claire muttered self-consciously, taking a step back from Allison. Her fingers curled around Allison's forearms, gently, and she stared openly at her. "And I…I'm sorry. I wish I could say 'I didn't mean that,' but I did. You needed to hear it…"

Flushing at the intimacy of words, the friendship and honest interlacing with her words, she pulled away self-consciously, trying to put some distance between them. "You don't get it, Claire…"

"So make me _get it_, Allison."

"It's not that easy."

"It is if you try."

Snorting, she sat back down on the chair, as Claire mimicked her, taking her spot on the bed back. She stared expectantly, waiting for her to finish 'explaining' why Claire wouldn't get it. Allison wished she never opened the damn door when the bell rang (but she was half hoping that it would be Andrew, and impulsively forgot to look through the peep-hole).

It would've saved her all the trouble if she had.

"If you think this is going to turn into some sob-fest of melodrama about how I still feel that someone – namely Andrew – is going to pop up out of nowhere and start laughing at me for falling for his stupid trick, then you should probably leave now."

"…That's not what I was expecting at all." She tucked a curly piece of russet hair behind her ears, showing off a pair of (rather uncharacteristic) simple looking earrings. "That's not you at all."

"And you know me so well."

"Lighten up – I was only kidding," she snorted, folding her legs neatly across one another. "Weren't you the one who went after Andrew in the first place? Why the sudden bout of insecurities now?"

Her chest tightened at the mention of his name. "I wasn't going to be played like that. If he didn't want me, he shouldn't have kissed me."

"So now you're the one playing him? How does that work out exactly? He's facing social ridicule for even-" She stopped mid-sentence, eyes darting to gauge Allison's reaction at what she carelessly let slip.

Allison continued on coolly. "Talking to me? Yeah, I know."

"I don't think you do. It's different with us, okay? We're…We…If your friends suddenly stop talking to you nobody knows about it, it's all kept tight inside your inner circle. If we lose friends, everyone - including the… um, nerds – know. It's all over the school without any regard to secrecy or dignity."

"Oh, well then, excuse me for not knowing how your uptight little society works."

"It's not like that," she snapped, narrowing her eyes at Allison. "What would you do if the people who've been friends with for most of your life suddenly stop talking to you for no reason?"

She tried to shrug nonchalantly, forcing an unaffected façade on her face. "I wouldn't know about that. I don't have any."

"Any what?"

"Any friends."

An awkward silence felt on them. Claire's mouth dropped open and close repeated for a few moments, staring aghast at Allison, who in turn, watched her with a heated flush covering her face. She shouldn't be embarrassed about something that was truth. So what if she didn't have a huge circle of friends. Who needed them anyway?

"I'm your friend…" The way she said it sounded more like a hesitant question.

Shaking her head, Allison swallowed down a sarcastic retort. She was trying to be a little nicer, but why did Claire have to make it so difficult? "No you're not."

"I want to be."

"Whatever. I get it, okay? Andrew could lose all his friends if he decided to go to dinner with me tonight. All the more reason for us not to go."

"No, all the more reason for you to runaway from this – which, by the way, is kind of ironic considering that you wanted him when you didn't have him, but now that you do, all you're filled with it doubts."

"Irony has nothing to do with it."

"It has _something _to do with it. Or a little thing called _hypocrisy_."

"Oh, so now I'm a hypocrite? What else am I, Claire? A loser, a freak, a nerd…"

"I didn't say that; don't put words in my mouth. What I meant was that you're _acting _like one."

"Some difference."

She let the gravity of Claire's words fall on her. Was she being hypocritical in her assumptions of Andrew? Maybe they were a little unfounded in some ways – he probably wasn't trying to make fun of her – and a little misguided. He hasn't done anything wrong. It was Allison who initiated the contact in the beginning – ripping his patch off his varsity jersey – but he'd been the one to kiss her, only to ignore her afterward.

After their confrontation, he did confess to liking her too. That was something akin to - what Claire would call – _social suicide _on a multitude of levels. He was popular and she wasn't. What if they never escaped that stigma throughout their relationship? What if it haunted them every step of the way, whispering cruel truths in their ears at every turn, making sure they constantly doubted and questioned their choices.

How was she supposed to cope? More importantly, how was he?

Even though every fiber of her anti-conformity agent rebelled against the labels they put on others, she would never ask him to leave his friends for her. That would be imperative to their progress, to what Allison wanted to prove. What was there to prove though? That Andrew would do what she said to stay in a relationship with her? She wanted to be a creative thinker, but a part of her, the realist, told her that she was just like everyone else, too.

If Andrew wanted to find a copy of her, he would. Easily.

Maybe not a carbon copy, but there were other girls out there who thought the way she did, acted the way she did, and believed what she believed. Nobody was truly unique. Even if they dyed their hair bright orange, there would be someone out there who had the same color hair or wanted to have the same style. Uniqueness was overrated in her opinion anyway. Instead of being original, why not be realistic? Or, simply put, not _fake_?

Andrew would have no problem finding a moody brunette who wasn't popular without much trial.

He technically didn't need her. He had his friends, a swarm of girls who would gladly date him, and yet, he chose her.

Allison Reynolds.

The realization was making her head spin.

"He likes me," she said slowly, processing it, mulling it around, feeling the weight of the confession on her tongue.

"Well duh," Claire supplied airily.

Allison swallowed. "And I'm scared."

"Pretty much sums everything up."

"I'm afraid that Andrew will wake up one morning and realize that the moody outcast isn't worth losing his popularity for and I'll be all alone once again."

* * *

><p>Claire was more helpful than Allison originally thought she'd be.<p>

After having a pseudo-sob-fest (or what Claire called, her inability to be vulnerable for once in her angst-filled teen life), they went down stairs to find something to eat, only realizing then that it was well into four-thirty in the afternoon. Her date was about to begin.

The russet haired girl didn't offer her any consolation to placate her doubts, not that she could, but she did give her own incentive to their situation. It helped her out a little, not marginally like she kind of hoped, but the words she gave made her nod and cracked her defenses slightly.

(Only large enough for someone like Claire Standish to slip through unannounced, redecorating her walls with a small smile and a 'do-something-about-it' glance.)

She helped Allison pick out a wardrobe to wear and fixed up her hair and makeup like she had last time, following the same style with a nostalgic smile on her face.

"There," she said, pulling away. "You look good as new."

"I feel like a doll."

"Get used to it."

Allison stood up, walking over toward the mirror hanging on the wall in the hallway, taking the first glance at herself since Claire begin doing her hair and makeup. She was wearing a simple pair of black jeans and a knitted navy sweater (the only thing in her closet that wasn't grey, black or brown) with light blue and burgundy argyle shapes on the chest. A red band pushed her choppy bangs from her face, with a nude look to her makeup.

She wasn't used to wearing barely any eyeliner on her eyes.

Or lipstick which, Claire was quick to assure her, looked nice.

Trying not to bite her lip (the last thing she needed were red stains on her teeth); she nodded at the other girl in the mirror shyly.

"What do you think?"

"It's…nice."

Claire nodded with a smile. "What time did you say Andrew was coming?"

"Uh, five-thirty or sometime around there."

Glancing at the clock on her dresser, she snorted. "Well, you have, like, ten minutes. I should probably go – wouldn't do much to give him a heart attack before the date."

Her palms clammed up. "Claire?"

The girl picked up her bag and paused. "Yeah?"

Allison turned around, looking at the mahogany wood beneath her feet. "Thanks."

"No problem. Call me later, after your date, okay? I want to know how it went."

"Aren't you going to be there celebrating tonight?"

Claire smiled secretly. "Ah, I have, uh, _plans_." She walked over to the front door, pulling it open and then looked over her shoulder with a cheeky grin. "Besides, I've found that it's not really my scene anymore."

* * *

><p>"Uh, hey."<p>

Answering her door three minutes later, she expected it to be Claire. Instead she found Andrew standing awkwardly on her doorstep, hands shoved inside his varsity jacket to keep warm. He looked…nice.

Really nice.

His hair was neatly brushed in the same style he kept, looking only slightly tousled from the wind, and he was dressed in a comfortable looking pair of jeans with his jacket and worn sneakers. She glanced down at herself, wondering if maybe she was overdressed or looked too causal.

Somehow, Andrew managed to look like a model, even with his tan cheeks flushed red.

"I thought you were going over at five-thirty?"

"Oh, uh, I'm a little late-"

"Late?"

"It's almost six. Sorry, my mum had to run an errand before she dropped me off. I figured we could walk since it's closer to your house and stuff, but if you want to take the bus, then…"

"Want to come in?"

His rambling was cute.

"We should probably leave now if we want to get a good seat."

Allison glanced away from his face, "we could do something else instead."

He was quiet for a moment – and for some reason, she felt her chest squeeze at the silence – before his hand landed on her shoulder. Looking up, she met his intense gaze and blushed under his scrutiny.

"I want to go, Allison."

She nodded. "Alright."

"Oh, um, you look nice…Uh, no, I mean…You always look nice, but tonight you look, um, really nice. Like, beautiful…"

The awkward, rambling compliments made her blush deepen. "Thanks…You look good, too."

It took her a while to get her bag and keys from her bedroom, leaving Andrew in the living room to sit. Her parents left whilst Claire was over, giving her free reign over the house. It wasn't anything unusual to her. They normally went out during the weekend. She was a little glad this time, wondering what sort of reaction Claire _and _Andrew would have gotten for coming to their house and asking for her.

She stopped in the hallway, glancing in the mirror once more, assessing what she looked like critically. For once, she kind of liked what she saw. Her hair was a little mussed, but otherwise, she looked relatively nice.

Beautiful, even.

Remembering Andrew waiting for her, she steeled herself and her fraying nerves for the unavoidable. Andrew wasn't aware that she knew about the celebration tonight; he thought that she was anticipating a relatively drama-free night. She didn't want to tell him, because then she would have to admit that Claire was over.

Having him know about their tentative friendship wasn't all that worrying to her, she just wanted to keep that piece of intimacy, of friendship, between Claire and she until it had time to develop. It was still new and fresh, and only gradually beginning to rise, and she was a little intimidated to let anyone else know about it.

"Are you ready?" Andrew questioned lightly when she walking into the room.

Nodding, she followed him out the house, locking the door behind her.

They stood there on the porch for a moment, looking out at the neighborhood. The sun was only just beginning to set as spring was starting to arrive, and for once, her middle-class street looking less embarrassing. Andrew didn't contrast as much as Claire had; he seemed to fit right into the backdrop of old pick-up trucks and brownish grass.

"So, uh, let's go?" He nervously asked, shyly ducking his head.

"Alright."

Walking down the street with Andrew wasn't as bad as she thought it would be. He was good company, if a little shy and awkward once his guard of popularity was ripped down. He was just like a normal teenager instead of the athletic idol everyone worshiped him as. It made her feel lighter when she saw it instead of tight and heavy, constantly looking for the blatant differences between them.

It felt right being by his side. In that moment, it was hard to tell who the popular jock was and who was the outcast was. They were equals. Maybe all her qualms were just unfounded thoughts based on her own suspicions and insecurities.

She glanced at Andrew, silently wondering why he chose her. Out of all the girls he could have, he picked her. It made no sense. What was so special about _her_? She was moody, intolerable, and sarcastic. She hated large groups of people and didn't have many people who'd willingly vouch for her.

In a nutshell, she was the opposite of what someone like him – someone who liked being the center of attention, who liked having many friends, and who was confident in himself – would want. They both had their own flaws and fallacies about each other. She was moody and he did what people wanted him to.

She was the perpetual angst-ridden teenager and he was the follower who couldn't think for himself.

The only difference was that he was trying to change.

Allison wasn't comfortable renovating herself for someone else, but her overall personality and likability could use some polishing. Maybe not everything about herself needed to be different, to change, but some parts of her could use it. She wouldn't be losing herself in the process for someone else, just making things easier to deal with.

Allison could do some growing up.

If Andrew was going to change for her – all because of some comment she made about him doing what people wanted – she could surely repay the favor. Why did she have to be so crass and unapproachable all the time? No one was saying she had to frolic in daisies and smile at everyone. How bad could it be?

Okay.

She would _try_, like she did for Claire, for Andrew to make things work.

Who cares what people thought? Since when was she the one who's worried about it? When Claire was talking about irony and hypocrisy, she couldn't have been more right. She once called them out for being crowd-pleasers and was too worried about what people would say, when in reality, that was her.

Non-conformist? Hardly.

She was going to live up to her rebellious, _devil-may-care_ persona toward what people think, staring with tonight. When they got to the diner, she was going to waltz right in there with Andrew, glaring at anyone head-on who wanted to say something about it. She was with _him_ and he was with _her_. If they had a problem with it they could face the other way.

"Hey, um, are you sure you want to do this?"

Her step faltered, sending her knocking into Andrew's side, and he steadied her with a gentle, cautious hand. "What do you mean?"

"You asked me if I wanted to stay in for tonight, but well, this is your date too, so you should get a say in where we go."

"I want to go with you Andrew. I wouldn't have agreed if I didn't."

So much for trying to be nicer.

Andrew just chuckled. "Right, sorry."

"You should be," she snorted, the word irony whispering over and over in a voice that sounded suspiciously like Claire's.

Suddenly, his face sobered as he stared ahead. She followed his gaze and stopped short. The diner was a block away.

Andrew turned to her, grabbing her hand in his own. They were kind of sweaty and warm. "If-if anything happens tonight, like, if anyone…Um, I just want you to know that I really do like you, Allison – like, a lot."

Refraining from saying something crude about his eloquence, she stared back at him, allowing only a slight eye-roll. "Duh, I don't generally go out with people who don't."

"I mean it, Allison. You're really…you know, cool and stuff, and I want to date you. I want to get to know you more…And I-"

Being bold was something she were accused of before, and thought herself as, too. Meekness was never a trait someone would paint her as, and she's determined to live up to that reputation. Leaning over, she used his steady hand to balance her as she reached up and kissed him, effectively shutting him up.

The scared, angry part of her wanted to say it was because she's of hearing him talk and needed a break, but she knew that this was something she'd wanted a repeat of since it happened last Saturday.

Like before, his lips were soft, only slightly chapped from the cold, and warm against hers.

He gasped at the sudden, unexpected kiss, the bold action shocking him. After a second, he returned the kiss wholly, slanting his mouth over hers. His bottom lip trembled and she was quick to nip at it lightly.

What seemed like longer, but was actually only a few seconds, they pulled away from each other, their eyes glazed over. They both wore matching blushes on their faces, and knew instantly it wasn't from the cold. She felt considerably warmer now, a tingle spreading flush over her body. Her heart was hammering inside her chest wildly, the beating loud and, for a second, she thought he could hear it too.

"U-um," he sputtered, voice sounding low and husky. "W-want to go now?"

Swallowing, she nodded, "I'd like that."

Their fingers entwined somehow during their kiss, hands clasped tightly together. To her, it wasn't like the big _screw you_ protest she thought it would be. There really wasn't much of a label to it, actually.

It was just their hands and them standing together in a comfortable silence.

She found the idea – the simplicity of it, the easiness where it's presented to her – truly riveting. There was no pressure to be something else, to be something more; it was a thoughtless act of holding hands. Neither of them were conscious of when it happened – the kiss wasn't that long – but the warm she felt against her palms made her flush with contentment.

Whatever was going to happen when they walked through those doors to the diner, she would take in stride. Andrew was still by her side, even after all the things she'd said to him and the way she acted, and hadn't left yet. He didn't seem to want to give her up just yet, and truthfully, she didn't either.

It still frightened her when she thought of the backlash them being together would cause.

But she was Allison Reynolds.

Since when did she care?

"Hey," she knocked her shoulder against his when he reached his hand out, grasping the door handle of the diner. "I guess I _kind of _like you too."

(She could pretend all she wanted, but she the little grin he tried to hide from her made her heart beat a little too fast and her face heat up a little more. And, she _kind of_ liked it. Whatever happened, happened, and at least she could say that it did instead of drowning in _what-ifs _for the rest of her life.)

_I tried my best to never let you in to see the truth  
>And I've never opened up<br>I've never truly loved 'Till you put your arms around me  
>And I believe that it's easier for you to let me go<em>

_I hope that you see right through my walls_  
><em>I hope that you catch me, 'cause I'm already falling<em>  
><em>I'll never let a love get so close<em>  
><em>You put your arms around me and I'm home<em>

_- arms_, christina perri

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**note3: **wow, i can't believe it's actually over! i'm a little bitter-sweet about it, and already miss playing with Allison's and Andrew's emotions. =P  
><strong>note4: <strong>i hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as i've enjoyed writing it.  
><strong>*<strong> - i couldn't resist sneaking in a reference to the matrix.

**special thanks: i** wanted to say 'thanks' to everyone who's stuck by me when i was – procrastinating – writing this – it really means a lot to me. to everyone who's ever added this story to their favorites (_AmandaaaMariie_, _BigBenMitchell, Civil-Raven, Davari, DetrimentalHabitsPt4, HelloMyNameIs-Jessica, I Wish I Had A British Accent, Lady Shave, MissAlexanderLugwig12, The Lifeless Girl, Twigirl19, YumiBelle, autumncs98, caligirl538, goldsworthy-mcarthur, iloverandyortonwwefan23, key2mylovliheart_) thank you all so much! If i got your name wrong or if i missed anyone, please tell me! to everyone who followed my story (_Can'tLiveInAFairyTaleRomance, DancingQueen57, DorothyGleekGale, HawkNelsonFangirl, NessieCarlieCullen-Black, PryoPocky, Scarlet. , ShyOracle, StormDancer, Unread-Letters, WolfieBurnsTheNight, authoress-fanatic, c00kies'N'cream234, dreaminginthecorner, havefaithhavechocolate, kana-kai, kioshi, li'miss sunshine, megelizabethvh88, phyco352, saknicole, sleeplessinrio, trysympathy, wolfie1025, xomagooxo_) thank you. and to everyone who reviewed (_Mace, TheEndZero, AliAndy, __xXrokrgrlXx, DLiz,_ and the aforementioned above) thank you so much! you all motivated me into finished this for you, and i really want to say thanks for sticking through with me all this time! you're all amazing.

thank you once again and i hope you enjoy this - kind of ambiguously ended - last chapter. =D


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